Selfish
by Xivia
Summary: Oneshot. Alistair agreed to the Ritual and the Grey Warden is left alone in her room. She comes to realize a few things about herself.


I watched the two of them leave the room. She was out of the door first, moving quickly but sashaying slightly, as was her usual. He followed stiffly, shoulders squared and head held high, a hint of clenched jaw visible from where I stood.

I kept watching the open and empty door for some time even after I had heard the one in the corridor open and then close behind them. Some stupid notion in my head telling me that if I concentrated on it hard enough I wouldn't have to think about the somewhere more private she had mentioned before leaving.

My hand twitched against my thigh and the sudden urge to call them back made my lips part, his name already surging up my throat.

But, no. I pressed my lips together, clenched my hand then relaxed it before I could press the fingernails against the palm and make myself bleed.

I had no call to make my sword-hand bleed when in less than two days time I would be needing it more than ever before. Not when the fate of Ferelden depended on my sodding sword-hand being in good fighting shape. And I had no call to give in to a silly fit of jealousy when I was the one who had made him agree to the Ritual.

I had no call to give in to the maelstrom of emotions trying to break out of my breast, because I had made him do it. Simple as that.

"Oh, Maker, what have I done?" I asked myself softly.

My own voice roused me from my stupor. I drew a shuddering breath and exhaled it slowly. I blinked a couple of times because suddenly, some unwanted reminder of the girl I was, was threatening to come out and shame me to my own eyes forever.

I had no call to be crying, I was the one who had agreed with her first.

Didn't even take her long, really.

_"I know what happens when the Arch-demon dies. I've come to tell you that this not need to be."_

Her exact words were already blurred in my mind but the meaning was what had hooked me: the first, faint glimmer of hope since Alistair and I had talked with Riordan. Sweeter than spring water to a parched throat.

I had drank in her every word after that, almost afraid to interrupt in case the crushing despair I had felt before she started talking would come back and my limbs would betray me and resume that ever-so-slight tremor Alistair had tried to calm with an embrace just outside Riordan's room.

He had been surprised to see me trembling and yet still fully armed. Trembling was something that happened in the privacy of my own tent, when I was naked and he was lying just as naked close to me, entwined with me, in me; not in the Arl of Redcliffe's guest rooms corridor after a war council with a senior Grey Warden.

He hadn't said anything just then, just took me in his arms and held me until some of the trembling had subsided. No one-liners or witty remarks, just the comfort of his arms, and I loved all the more for that. Then he'd told me to get to my room, that he would be with me in a little while.

And then there was Morrigan, and what she had offered me was several levels above comfort: a way out.

A way out of me dying, of Alistair dying which, frankly, amounted to the same thing.

No matter Riordan's words about him taking the first shot at the Arch-demon because he was the most senior amongst us. What did I know about Riordan or of his fighting ability save that he was a Grey Warden? I might have trusted Duncan with something like this but look what had happened to him. Dead. And not even at the Arch-demon's talons.

No. Since Riordan had told us what killing the Arch-demon entailed there had been only two possible courses of action in my head: at the end of the first, I was dead; at the end of the second, Alistair was dead.

And I was not, would not, **could not** contemplate any of the two. I did not want to!

But even the beginnings of the mental imagery of such outcomes had robbed me of breath and left a hollow feeling right under my breast, pulsing along with my heart: fear.

How could normal people live with that feeling I couldn't begin to fathom. I had had it in me for less than five minutes and already I couldn't function anymore.

Normal people were definitely braver than I, the Grey Warden, hero of Ferelden, future commander of its army and Queen-consort.

Something I had heard some other time flitted through my head, fear requires imagination. And I guess it was true. My extreme cockiness, my vast optimism, my complete trust in my abilities and those of my companions were probably just synonyms for stupidity and narrow-mindedness. My accomplishments notwithstanding, I was still the spoiled and not-so-bright daughter of a country Teryn, still full of fairy tales and happy endings.

Well, the conversation with Riordan had seen to that. No happy ending in sight for the hero of this tale. Everything had crumbled in and around me.

Until Morrigan had opened her mouth.

My good friend Morrigan, who I now realized had known it would all come to this even before she joined me. I so wanted to believe she had offered the Ritual to me and Alistair out of the love she bore me, her only friend, but I knew better. She wanted to give birth to a God. Alistair had even warned me she might have some hidden agenda and not to trust her. Several times, in fact. Her own mother had warned me, but she was my friend, wasn't she? **Wasn't she?**

But if she really did think of me as her friend, she could have prepared me for this, could have mentioned it countless times before now, could have... done something!

_"My friend, 'tis improper for you to fall madly in love with Alistair, because not only is he an utter fool but one of you will surely die before this petty Blight comes to an end. Don't you know how you're supposed to kill the Arch-demon?"_

There! Not that difficult!

An high pitched squeal of laughter escaped me. Now I was on my way to becoming hysterical.

I shook my head and forced the rest of my body to respond and in less than two steps I was at the door.

I closed it. Softly. Not giving in to hysterics. Good.

I started to remove my weapons and armour, inspecting each piece carefully for signs of wear before putting them on the bed to begin the tedious process of oiling. But when I found myself in shirt and breeches I decided I couldn't be bothered. I chucked everything in the chest at the feet of my bed and dragged it outside the door, where one of Arl Eamon's squires would find them and oil them for me, taking far better care of it all than I could in my present state. I went back towards the bed and stopped again.

Five minutes later I was sitting on the bed, an oiled rag in one hand and my sword across my knees. That and my shield were the only things I had retrieved from the chest. The shield was waiting its turn by the side of the bed, next to an unstoppered bottle of something I had meant to give to Oghren but had never remembered. Or it could be one of Zevran's poisons, I wasn't entirely sure judging by the taste. I wasn't dead yet so I was partial to the first explanation.

I worked the blade furiously, trying hard to block everything not related to weapon welfare out of my mind. When the sword started to reflect the light of the few candles and almost illuminate the room with something akin to daylight I put it aside and started on the shield.

Perhaps Morrigan knew me better than I gave her credit for. In retrospect, her saying nothing could be what had saved my life. Her not plaguing me with doubts and fear had left my overwhelming confidence intact when I needed it, gave me the ability to overcome a great number of difficulties, lead my companions, keep them together. She hadn't always agreed with my decisions but she had stayed with me, she had supported me.

And maybe, not maybe but definitely, I was the only one at fault here.

Enough of beating around the mental bushes and time to admit it loud and clear, at least to myself.

"I'm a selfish bitch."

I sighed.

"I don't want to die."

I sighed again.

I'd never really enjoyed the tales where the hero chose to sacrifice himself for the good of all. After all his toiling with vanquishing the bad guy the hero is supposed to marry his princess and live happily ever after, not get a splendid tombstone and be cast aside as a name in a ballad or two and as an obscure figure in history books. And the princess, in this case Alistair, was so much a part of me that the mere thought of living without him was not even mentionable in my head.

In fact, my mind shied away from the half-formed thought so fast that I put the shield down and grabbed the bottle, bringing it to my lips in less than a heartbeat.

I started coughing after a couple of large sips.

Morrigan had seen to the continued existence of Alistair and myself... well, was seeing to it.

Blast it!

I took another swallow and put the bottle down, then I blinked several times in rapid succession and the room seemed to right itself.

I went back to working on the shield but was not into it anymore. The circles the oily rag in my hand made on it got slower and slower until they stopped altogether. I looked into the gleaming spot and saw my reflection.

Not only did I not want Alistair or me to die. I had just made sure he would beget a son, the one thing I could never give him if the stories about Grey Wardens mating with each other were true, that would never even know him, if Morrigan was to be trusted in this at least.

A bastard, just like him.

The accident of birth that had shaped his whole life, the one thing he would not wish on anyone else, now applied to his only son.

And I was supposed to love him. Me!

_"Alistair, you know I love you, right?"_

I'd asked him when I went to his room, after Morrigan had finished telling me everything I wanted to know.

_"Oh Maker, can you make it sound more ominous?"_

He'd told me and how right he was.

My love for him was ominous, an enveloping black cloud of doom, all encompassing and utterly selfish.

I didn't want to die and I didn't want him to die because without him I was not alive.

It had not even come to me until this moment that I might have refused Morrigan's offer and sacrificed myself for him, died for his sake, to keep him whole and true to himself.

Maybe not whole, I knew if I died at least a part of him would die with me, but his integrity and self-worth, his firm beliefs and uncomplicated outlook on life, all those parts which formed the core of the man I loved would be spared.

He would mourn me, but in time he would heal, maybe marry, have legitimate children to whom he would be a splendid father, become one of the greatest kings Ferelden ever had and then... well, he was still a Grey Warden. After thirty years or so, according to Grey Warden's lore, the taint would become unbearable and he would quietly leave behind the world he knew to end his life battling darkspawns in the Deep Roads. But with a full life behind him. A full, productive, uncomplicated - maybe happy? - life.

At the same time I'd robbed him of a glorious death. A clean death. A generous death, if death could ever be defined as generous, to save me and the rest of the world. I had made the decision for him, didn't even give him the option to choose or argue.

_"Do you trust me, Alistair?"_

Of course he did. I knew that and I had used that knowledge to make sure he went along with the Ritual and corrupt himself and all because,

"I'm a selfish bitch."

The reflection in the shield looked at me wide eyed, no doubt impressed by the breadth and scope of my perversity.

I laughed softly to myself. The reflection didn't know the half of it.

I had by now realized how deeply I'd managed to hurt and debase the man I claimed to love and how selfish, unworthy, shallow and just plain stupid I really was and still the only thing that kept making my lower lip tremble and my eyes fill with tears was the thought of Morrigan screwing my Alistair.

I threw the rag down and let the shield fall back on the bed.

Maker have mercy on me but maybe I was the real Arch-demon.

I tried to stand and the room spun around me in a vortex. The side of my foot bumped against something and then my toes felt the carpet get cold and wet. With a groan I let myself fall back.

* * *

When I opened my eyes again the room was almost completely dark.

I blinked and raised my hands to my head. The way it felt I thought it might have grown several sizes and by Andraste's holy socks, did it hurt!

"I was wondering if you would wake up at all," said a voice coming from somewhere to my right. "What with the empty bottle and the awful noises you were making in your sleep I thought I'd have to go check with our Antivan gigolo if he'd been here for a game of Dare... with poison."

I tried to turn my head towards the voice and instead I ended curled up in a foetal position, both my hands pressing against the sides of my head to keep my brain from spilling out.

"But now I see I was wrong," the voice went on, coming closer and assuming a mocking lilt. "It looks like somebody thought she could drink like a Dwarf and was heedless of the consequences."

I heard a splashing sound, then something cool touched my forehead. I cringed.

"Namely, head-hurting, sick-feeling and possible shrinkage of limbs. Fortunately, the whiskers-sprouting is just a delayed effect, I hear, so you won't need to start shaving for at least a couple of days."

I relaxed slightly as the cool, wet rag was placed gently over my eyes and forehead.

The mattress under me moved with the weight of a body sitting down but it felt like a huge wave had rocked the boat I was on and my stomach rolled with it. I shot up and a hand guided my head firmly towards a waiting chamber-pot.

When nothing more save my intestines would come up I accepted a pitcher full of water and rinsed my mouth.

"Maker's breath, woman! Hasn't seeing Oghren every morning for the past several months taught you anything about drinking that stuff?"

I mumbled something unintelligible and went back to curling.

"Great! Must have taught you dwarvish since I can't understand a word you said."

The wet rag was again placed on my brow and the weight lifted from the bed. I heard the door creak open and then shut again.

The mattress moved again but this time my stomach remained still.

"Let me know when you feel a bit clear headed. In the meantime, I'll be here. Not moving, not sleeping, just waiting... "

* * *

I must have dozed off because when I opened my eyes again the voice had stopped speaking and the faint, crystalline light of pre-dawn filtering through the closed shutters was the only illumination in the room. The wet rag had slid off my face and was lying on the pillow, beneath my hand. I took it and then rose, carefully. My head did not hurt as much as before, though it was still tender, but what I felt was an incredible thirst. I put my feet on the floor and tried standing.

So far so good.

The pitcher was waiting for me on the small table by the door. I drank my fill from it then dipped the rag in and dabbed with it at my face. The coolness was pure heaven. When I'd also given the same treatment to my neck I put the rag down by the pitcher and sighed. No more stalling.

I turned towards the bed and looked at him.

His armour was gone and he was dressed much like me, in just shirt and breeches. He was just sitting there, his back resting against the headboard, arms crossed on his chest and his long legs stretched out in front of him. The only light came from the window on the other side of the bed, so I couldn't see if his eyes were open or not, but I knew he was watching me, and waiting.

I went to sit by the edge of the bed. My shoulders were hunched and I tried to square them a bit before turning my head to him.

"Feel any better?" He asked.

I nodded but that caused my head to hurt some more. I closed my eyes and decided to use my voice.

"Yes. Not much, but better."

"Good."

He exhaled then and something in his body shifted. What had been a resting position suddenly became a self-protective one.

"I think I need to talk to you about something." He said.

There he was. Now he was going to tell me what he thought about me and there was not a sodding thing I could do save agree with him.

"Alistair, I..."

"Please. You'll have your chance to say something when I've finished my bit."

"All right," I said in a very small voice. I started to bow my head to look at the floor, maybe to show how chastened I already felt, but he stopped me.

"And, if it's not too much to ask, I'd like for you to look at me while I'm talking. Well, in my general direction would be enough since I can't be exactly sure where your eyes are looking in this."

He waved his hand briefly to indicate the lack of proper light.

The angles of my mouth went slightly up and again I turned towards him.

"This past night," he began, "something happened that I'd never thought could happen. I'd never had that many certainties in life and you might have noticed I'm very slow to react when one of them goes missing."

I discovered my hands were gripping the bedsheets so I folded them in my lap, very afraid to see where this was going and not wanting to show him any more outward signs of nervousness.

"For example, since I had none I thought family was important, before meeting my half-sister, and you know it took me a while to come to terms with the fact that most people are more interested in themselves than in others."

I nodded, very slowly.

"And you are aware that I waited so long to engage in... certain particular activities because I was convinced that when I found the right woman, there would be nobody else. Ever."

I pressed my lips together and I nodded again.

"Well, this other stupid notion of mine's also gone down the drain now, and..." he stopped and inhaled audibly. I heard his knuckles pop but I didn't dare say anything, afraid he might just skip to the bottom line and damn me. I was after all guilty of the demise of both the certainties he had mentioned and a few more.

He looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

"Well, and I know it'll take me some time to process it. Or, even talk about it."

He made a wide gesture with his hands and shrugged at the same time. He was chuckling.

"Fortunately I'm very good at hinting at things without ever addressing them head on, it's a talent I have, so I can talk around it."

I frowned. Now I was not sure where this was going.

"What I wanted to say... well, it's more of a question than a statement, really. But first let me say that when I came back here, after the... the thing, all I wanted to do was crawl in your lap and beg you to touch me, to help me blot everything out of my head."

He chuckled again.

"Of course you were unresponsive, to say the very least."

I hiccuped something similar to a sob and brought my hand up to cover my mouth.

"Yeah," he went on, "so I've had a bit of time for thinking after I played nurse but I keep coming to the same conclusions. The first is, I'm not good at stewing thoughts in my head," he snorted, "as if anyone has ever had any doubt about that. The second..."

He bent one of his legs towards him and moved the other out of the bed to close the distance between us. I went completely still. He made no other move to touch me but lowered his head as if lost in thought. He cleared his throat but when he spoke again he was almost whispering.

"The second is... will you have me again?" He raised his eyes to mine and it could have been a trick of the light but I thought he looked scared. "I know it isn't fair to ask you after what I just... what happened, and I know it might feel like pretending nothing happened when the truth is that it did, but all I can think about is that I need you. I..." he slowed down. "I need to be with you. I... need you to... cleanse me."

My mouth was open but I couldn't say anything. He shook his head.

"Oh, I'm such a bumbling idiot! Why isn't it coming out the way it's supposed to?"

"Ali-"

"What I meant to say is, I need to feel that I still have you and I know it's probably the most disgusting idea you've ever heard when I've just been... but..."

I covered his mouth with my hand and he closed his eyes. I removed the hand and caressed his jaw slowly, looking at him wonderingly, still afraid that what he really wanted to say was something else.

"I just need you so much." He whispered.

I let my hand rise to the back of his head, my fingertips never breaking contact and feeling a slight dampness on his scalp. I lowered his head to mine and, forehead to forehead, I could feel he'd been sweating throughout the whole, brief speech. I could also smell something alien on him, incense and oils, reminders of the night just past. My hand contracted in his hair. I noticed then that he was muttering something, over and over again. At first I thought he was praying but then I could make out the words.

"Please, say something, please."

I took his face with both my hands and kissed him hard.

He crushed me to his chest.

I don't know what came over us right then but suddenly we were almost fighting for dominance.

I'd always been the dominant one with him, I was after all more experienced, if not terribly so, than he was. Tonight instead he was trying to get what he wanted at the pace he wanted.

I yielded and let him settle me on his lap, straddling him. One of his hands grabbed the back of my head to force it down so he could kiss me more deeply while the other one slid from my back to my buttocks to make me grind against him, to make me feel he was ready.

I moaned into his open mouth.

He lowered himself to lie on the bed, taking me with him. When he was sure I would not stop kissing him he took the hand away from my head and started to pull up my shirt. I broke contact just long enough to help him pull it over my head. He tossed it away carelessly then encircled my torso with his arms and reversed our positions, so that I was under him.

He made no effort to spare me his weight and between that and his greedy mouth on mine I struggled to breathe for a bit. I did not let go, though.

Much as he needed me, I needed to feel he was still mine too.

He started to hump solidly against me. I got my hands under his shirt and scratched him from neck to shoulder-blades, hard enough to draw blood. He shifted slightly so that he could insinuate one of his hands between our bodies. He tugged at the strings of my breeches and opened them enough to allow his hand inside. Didn't take him long to feel I was more than ready.

He groaned and rose to pull off his shirt. I followed him up and started kissing and licking his chest while my fingers fumbled with his breeches' opening. He completed undoing mine much faster and with a hand shoved me down and pulled them off me. I rose again to resume what I was doing, trailing kisses on his hard belly while his hands helped me. When he was free I tried to dip my head lower but, again, he shoved me down.

"Time for that later," he said between clenched teeth before covering me with his body.

I liked that later part.

He kissed me again, just as feverishly as before. His hands found mine and he brought them up over my head, while entwining his fingers with mine.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against my mouth.

Before I could even register what he'd said he found my opening and slammed into me with all his strength.

My scream was half muffled by his lips. White hot pain invaded my body and, for a moment, I could not move. Then my back arched in an attempt to get away from him and my arms strained to free themselves from his grip.

His face rose a bit above mine and he looked at me. There was enough light for me to see in his face the strain of confining me and at the same time of not moving to finish what he had begun. I could also see the certainty that he would go on and obtain what he wanted from me. My capitulation. I knew then that he realized what I'd done and why and this was the only way for him to regain a small measure of himself back.

I inhaled and exhaled, trying to calm the pain, then I nodded imperceptibly.

He kissed my forehead and started to move again, but very slowly. His kisses trailed down the side of my face and then my neck, where his teeth nipped me. I bit my lower lip when he picked up the pace. His hands squeezed mine, questioning. I squeezed back. I would offer no resistance.

His lips found mine again and this time they were savage. He started pounding into me without any restraint.

And something _clicked_ inside me. Without any conscious thought on my part my body was offering itself to his battering, urging him on, making itself more accessible. I was finally giving all I could where he was taking.

Without warning a ball of light fragmented in my brain and my body fell apart, too taken by its own pleasure to care about what was done to it anymore.

I don't know how long passed before I came to, probably just moments, but Alistair was screaming and I could feel him convulse inside me. He gave a last, hard push then bowed his head until it came to rest on my shoulder.

I extricated my hands from his now limp grip and held him close, trying to ease his trembling. My turn.

We just laid there, panting, for a while.

His hand found my cheek and tenderly wiped away tears I was not even aware of having cried. I turned and kissed his forehead. He rose on his elbows and watched me for a time.

"What?" I asked him softly.

The angles of his lips curled up mischievously. "Is this later enough, you think, or do you need more time to recover from..."

His eyebrows rose and I could only laugh.

He dipped in for a quick kiss but I stopped him.

"I have to tell you something first," I said, "about me."

"Mmh?" He started kissing me anyway.

"I..." I managed to get out as he left my lips to lightly graze my neck with his teeth. "... am a..." his mouth reached my breasts. "... oh..."

* * *

"Alistair?" I called with the hushed voice a person uses when she knows somebody is sleeping but wants them to hear anyway. I rose on my elbow to look at him.

"Is it time to go already?" His eyes were closed but he seemed awake enough.

"I'm a selfish bitch." I blurted out.

His eyes opened a crack. His hand rose to the back of my head to bring me closer to him and I could see he was smiling. He kissed my forehead.

"I know. As I've said before, I'm a lucky man."


End file.
